


Frogs, Drugs, and a Discussion or Two

by rainer76



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainer76/pseuds/rainer76





	Frogs, Drugs, and a Discussion or Two

She murmurs. “Breathe.”  
  
“I am. A little too fast, like palpitations really, should my heartbeat be this quick?” Her fingers scramble against the buttons of her blouse, pushing two fingers in through the seam and stroking against the lace of her bra. “I could dance the flamenco to this.” The lights are too bright, her eyes wide, mouth dry. Astrid pushes her tongue against the back of her teeth, swallows, and then does it again until moisture forms. “I’m scared, like Rachel Marrens.”  
  
“Forget about your heartbeat,” she soothes quietly. “Just concentrate on breathing.”  
  
Knuckles press against Astrid’s heated cheek, caress down, drag against her skin until she sways forward. It’s tactile: she needs the grounding, nudges into it. Her curls are in her eyes, stinging the pupils, making them bright with unshed tears. “Her father used to see frogs.”  
  
Olivia tilts her head. She tries with a degree of uncertainty. “It’s better than seeing dead people?”  
  
“I hated that movie.” Astrid’s hungry, scared, her feet tripping a beat against twirling flamencos. “Everyone said there was a twist, and I guessed the end in the first five minutes. She never looked him in the eye at the restaurant.”  
  
“You’d be a mean player at the poker table.”  
  
“I was a better dancer.” She catches the look Olivia throws, warm, meditative, scanning over Astrid’s slight form, her hollow bones, her flushed cheeks. She concentrates on breathing. Astrid hooks her quick feet, their treacherous beat, under the stool to keep them from dancing away. “Olivia,” she says loudly, her voice ringing through the lab until she drops the volume in surprise. “I don’t mean to be a bother. You shouldn’t…you have other things to do. I can sit this out. I’ve seen Walter do it a hundred times. You shouldn’t waste time when you could be hunting Berrick.”   
  
She’s inordinately proud she didn’t slur her words once. Astrid beams.  
  
“I’m not wasting time,” Olivia says evenly. “Berrick can wait.” There’s a lengthy pause, dragging out until Astrid realises she isn’t going anywhere. “Why did Rachel’s father see frogs?”  
  
“Schizophrenic. His wife left, things were tight at home, and sometimes he forgot his medication…or maybe he didn’t like it. Rachel took to sleeping on our couch when he skipped his meds. My dad’s couch, I mean. Have you met him?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“He’s awesome.” She says winningly.   
  
She can see the smile creeping into Olivia’s eyes; her mouth slants, becomes generous. Olivia leans forward on her elbows and says seriously. “He would have to be, given his relations.”  
  
Astrid hums. A burst of warmth catches in the back of her throat, tickles through her vocal chords. Olivia’s all golden hair and lioness eyes - her body still as a prairie in the fool’s light - filled with things that are hidden in the long grass.   
  
“Walter’s good. Docile sometimes; sometimes frantic; but good: not violent. Rachel’s father attacked her with a knife because he thought her arms were covered in frogs.”  
  
“You’re not schizophrenic.”  
  
“I’m not in my right mind.”  
  
“I’m right here.”  
  
“I really want to dance.” She has the feeling Olivia’s trying not to laugh. Her hand comes to rest on top of Astrid’s, one over the other, their fingers laced together.   Astrid confesses, “Would you believe for all the times I’ve minded Walter, I’ve never been high? Except for when I got my wisdom teeth out, I was high for a week then, but this is different. What if I forget to look after him, if I leave a Bunsen burner on? What if I turn violent, or hurt someone?”   
  
“The flamenco can definitely look that way.”  
  
Astrid pauses mid-flow, she says indignantly. “No it doesn’t.” Then she thinks in alarm, _I really am high._  
  
Olivia strokes a thumb over her wrist, tone thoughtful. “I never knew you could dance.”  
  
Astrid regards the other woman, body at war between hot and cold, thoughts scattershot, but Olivia promised she wouldn’t leave for the duration and Astrid’s grateful there’s someone here, willing to stand sentinel and keep _Astrid_ company for once, pressing bone against skin so she doesn’t fly away. “I’d tell you about me. If you’d like to hear?” she adds, uncertainly.  
  
“My mother used to dance,” Olivia says out of the blue. Her body settles in its seat, becomes comfortable. “It was ballroom, though, not flamenco. I’ve seen photos of her and my dad in his dress uniform. They looked glamorous.” The hand on Astrid’s tightens, the smile in Olivia’s eyes becomes enveloping. It pierces through Walter’s drugs, the accidental dosage, worms into Astrid’s ribcage, its frantic heartbeat. She breathes out, suffused with warmth.   
  
“I’d love to hear your stories.”


End file.
